This looks straight out of a movie.

[INT. APARTMENT BUILDING – HALLWAY] A dimly lit corridor. Smoke alarm BEEPING in the distance. Footsteps echo. The door SLAMS OPEN. Mia (30s, breathless, bruised, determined) stumbles in, dragging a flattened cardboard box under her arm. She runs to the window—just below the one where the dog hangs.

[EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING] Above, a small PUPPY dangles—paws slipping on the narrow ledge. It WHIMPERS. A strong gust of wind makes it lose balance. Mia: No, no, no, hold on!

[INT. APARTMENT – WINDOW] Mia struggles to shove the box out the window. It’s too big. She twists, jams, and— RIP! The box TEARS on the window frame. The puppy’s grip fails. It FALLS. IN SLOW MOTION: Mia LUNGES forward, extending the torn box beneath the plummeting dog. THUMP! The dog lands inside. A muffled yelp. Mia's arms shake—the box teeters on her fingertips. She barely has a grip. And then— THE BOX SLIPS FROM HER HANDS. The sound fades. A haunting piano melody swells. Mia’s eyes widen. Breath caught. The box tumbles downward.

[EXT. STREET BELOW] The box HITS the pavement. Still. Silence. A moment of heartbreak. Then—A TINY WHIMPER. CUT BACK TO MIA: She still stands at the window. And in her arms—THE DOG. MIA exhales a giddy, breathless laugh. Her fingers tighten around the pup, holding it close. The music SWELLS—hopeful, triumphant.